When we connected just as the flight was being called, we realized that we weren’t seated together. A kind stranger agreed to switch, but we didn’t work on the plane anyway because we were packed in way too tight to even reach down and pull papers out.
They really squish you in.
The plane was massive and full. Nine seats across and at least 60 rows, maybe more. If you move an arm, you’ve entered into your neighbour’s private space. The temperature careens wildly from sauna to meat locker. And though there were a half dozen or so worthy movies on the entertainment system, the 10 minute package of commercials you were forced to sit through ahead of each was just annoying.
We dozed a bit but the lights came on and ice cold bran muffins were passed at what was probably 12:30 am. And the worst of it lay ahead: Heathrow.
Shuffling along in endless lines in endless corridors, hollow fatigued brain echoing a call to Temple Grandin to save me. Escalators up. Escalators down. A bus. More corridors. More escalators. And then signs, sorting us into lines: those with British or EU passports in one, the rest of us in another.
When we got into the line there were perhaps 14 or 18 people ahead of us. We spent over an hour waiting.
When you’re carrying a Canadian passport, you don’t often feel what’s like to be a third class citizen, but our Canadian credentials did us no good at Heathrow. The passport control officers took EU passport holders first, ten of them for every one of us. When one among our number (we Japanese, Canadians, Brazilians, etc threw our lot in together and became one cohesive group) dared to ask to advance a little faster for fear of missing a flight, the passport control officer actually screamed at us that they had the right to take EU citizens ahead of us. And we were ignored for another 10 minutes. I have a feeling the young Japanese couple and their little boy missed their flight.
When I finally got to the wicket and showed my passport, I got a lot of questions; where I was going, how long, the name of the conference, where I was staying. Bear in mind that I was just trying to get to a connecting flight to Ireland. I was even staying in England.
And then it was 4 am.
We were finally in the terminal where we were to catch our connecting flight to Dublin. And the sign said that our gate was a 25 minute walk yet!
Don’t ask me about the flight to Dublin. I slept through it.
Getting into Ireland was easy. The line was short and the border guard asked only how long I was staying and whether I was here for business or pleasure before stamping my passport and welcoming me to Ireland.
Getting here was none of the fun, but the hotel is beautiful and I’ve been a big fan of Dublin for years. Plus the IAWG meetings lie ahead. So the complaining stops here.
Most of my time since arriving has been spent comatose, although force my eyes open at 7:30 local time to take a walk down Grafton Street and through dark and winding streets. The weather is mild and the air has a softeness to it. The All Ireland was today and Cork supporters were spilling out of pubs and chanting in the streets.
A little food, a little more sleep and I’ll be ready tomorrow to meet the members of the IAWG and the EU screenwriters who are spending the day with us tomorrow.